


Stag & Doe

by 60secondstopain



Series: The Stag and His Doe [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, First time posting on here, Smut, Wish me luck, alternative ending, alternative universe, arthur still gets tb, hopefully happy ending, possible vampire!arthur morgan, smut in future, things will be different compared to the game, vampire!original character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:21:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23109913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/60secondstopain/pseuds/60secondstopain
Summary: In a world where outlaws are no longer wanted, the past seems to be another foe. Eight years and one disappearance can hold many wounds. Even as you learn that those wounds are about to be torn right back open.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Original Character(s)
Series: The Stag and His Doe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1975123
Kudos: 15





	1. White Orchid

Dawn stretched through the mountains and the earth came to life. The sun tried to peak through the overcast of clouds. Deer grazing through the fields of the heartlands. Wild horses galloping through streams. Farmhands beginning their day’s work.

Fires dying to ash and rumble as the yawns and groans of camp rose. Miss Grimshaw being the first to be up and ready for her day. She woke the other ladies of camp and set them to work. Mr Pearson groaned as he stepped up to the chopping board and began the stew for the empty camp bellies. Abigail Roberts setting up a fresh pot of coffee as she relit the fire under the cooking pot. Charles Smith stood with an axe in his hands and swung it down to spilt a wooden log in half.

As the rest of camp went about its usual morning routine, four members seemed to linger a while longer inside their tents. Molly O’Shea left her shared tent with Dutch Van Der Linde in a huff. Said man sat on their shared bed, a grimace set along his face. The record player next to him playing a solemn medley, a sad trumpet followed by low strings filled the air. Hosea Matthews sat on his bed roll as he watched the clouds pass by in the morning blue. A thought or two drifting away with them. Thoughts that Hosea hoped would fade with the clouds. John Marston emerged from his tent. His hat lowered over his freshly scarred face as he avoided the others in camp and went to his horse. Patting him on the neck before mounting him and riding out of camp. Abigail watched him leave with a heavy heart and a hopeless worry for him.

Arthur Morgan sat on his bed with a book in his hands. Staring at the brown cover, he didn’t dare open it. Glaring at the small object in his hands, the sheets inside the leather a blade that would pierce his scarred wound and tear it open if he glanced at them. Clenching his jaw, Arthur stands from his bed, puts the book back into his satchel and leaves his tent. The music playing from Dutch’s tent only deepened the frown in Arthur’s brow. No words were spoken between them as Arthur passed by. It was clear that the two men weren’t okay. Too much had occurred within the past few weeks. Escaping Blackwater and losing members of their family once again. Uncertainty about other members of the gang still floated around. Now today it felt as though they were being trampled by herds of Bison.

Arthur approached the hitching post he had left his horse, Ace. The black rabicano Tennessee Walker greeted his owner with a huff as Arthur patted his neck. Arthur pulled a sugar cube from within his satchel and fed it to Ace. Running his hand over Ace’s neck, Arthur pulled a cigarette out and lit a match off the side of his boot. Shaking the match out once his cigarette was lit.

“Arthur!” Said man turned to Hosea as he approached him.

“Hosea.” Arthur nodded back in response.

“How’d you like to come hunting with me?” Hosea asks as he pats Ace on his neck. Arthur raises an eyebrow at the older man as he takes his cigarette from his lips.

“What you plannin’ on huntin’?”

“A big bear. Somewhere by Dakota River, towards the mountains. Would be a day’s ride out from camp.” Hosea replies. Arthur ponders the idea of getting away from camp for a while. His decision being pushed towards going when he hears the music from Dutch’s tent become even more sombre.

“Let’s go get us a beast.” Arthur flicks away his cigarette.

The pair headed into Valentine to get together some supplies and to sell one of the Shire horses to get some money for the camp. The stableman questioned where the papers for the horse were and Arthur had the pleasure of making sure the man just trusted him. After a payment was agreed, the stableman went to get Arthur’s money.

Arthur’s eyes traced along the street under the overcast sky outside of the stables. A mundane life flowed through the town. A small construction taking place next to the general store, looking to be finishing in the near future. A grey hound barking as people passed her, wanting attention from those around her. A quiet town, definitely somewhere to lay low for a while. But Arthur wouldn’t complain if he could leave civilisation behind him as he and the others all head west again.

Returning to Arthur and handing him his money, the stableman spoke:

“What brings you to Valentine, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Laid off from work up north, just out looking for a place to call home and get some money.” Arthur replies, having already practiced what he would say referring to his life.

“Well you be careful out here.” The stableman glanced around them before stepping closer to Arthur and in a hushed tone said: “There’s been talk of some kind of creature that’s been killing animals. Men finding deer, some are even claiming bears, drained of blood. Some say that they saw it. Glowing red eyes and taking the form of a woman! But whatever it is, it’s been roaming closer to town and if you plan on heading up the mountains, then God be with you.”

Arthur stared at the petrified man before him as though he were talking gibberish.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Arthur nodded as he took his money from the man and left the stables. A frown creasing his brow as he glanced over his shoulder to the stables.

“Some people.” He mutters. Stuffing the money into his satchel, he walked up the street to Ace, hitched outside the general store. He patted his horse in greeting as Hosea emerged from the building, carrying a few items – some he passed over to Arthur.

“Sell ‘im?” Hosea asks as he packs his canned goods into the saddle bag on his own horse, Arthur mirroring his actions on Ace.

“Yeah. Even got a ghost story for my troubles.” Arthur chuckles as he closes the saddle bag. He then unties Ace’s reigns from the hitching post to then hoist himself up onto the horse. “’pparently there’s some kind of creature in the woods killing animals and drinking blood or somethin’.”

“Funny,” Hosea groans as he climbs onto the back of his horse, “I heard something similar from the store owner. Seems something has this town spooked.”

“And you said it was a normal town.” Arthur quips at the older man as they started up the street.

“Yes, well we better keep an eye out for this devil woman.” Hosea scoffed.

The conversation began to delve into Arthur’s feelings towards John. Hosea wanting to see the two men get along as they once did as young boys. Arthur held onto his ill feelings towards John for abandoning Abigail and Jack. The fool didn’t understand how lucky he truly was. Arthur wouldn’t forgive him as easily as the others had. Not after he had abandoned his own kid.

Nightfall fast approaching, Hosea and Arthur settled down in a small camp with some rabbit to eat. The fire licked towards the sky as the two sat on their bedrolls. Arthur stared at the fire, his mind wandering through a meadow of memories. All the flowers are the same. White Orchids. They were always _her_ favourite. Each one dampening his mood as he walks through them. A once treasured part of nature he would go out of his way to find, were now nothing but a painful reminder of what he lost.

“Remember when Camille came to camp for the first time?” Arthur wasn’t in the meadow. He was in the woods with Hosea. Staring at a fire as Hosea spoke to him. But he still saw one Orchid. One that now leaves him with an extra reminder to stay cold and protect those who he sees as family.

“Scared Dutch half to death when she walked up on him.” Arthur smiles at the memory of a small girl walking up behind Dutch and said man almost taking flight when the young girl tapped him.

Hosea and Arthur reminisced through the old days, each bringing her face clearer into the forefront of Arthur’s mind. Her wicked grin when they were on a heist with Dutch and Hosea. Her drowsy eyes as she sat by the campfire, nearing dropping the bowl of stew in her grasp as she would doze. Her soft palm against his cheek when she reassured him that his world wasn’t falling apart when Mary left.

So whilst Hosea slept, Arthur pulled out his journal and flipped through the pages. Sketching her memory down onto page, finding that even his hand couldn’t fully capture her beauty. But there she was. The short brown hair that she would cut every other week, claiming to never wanting it in her eyes on a job. Onyx eyes that starred up at the stars and moons in wonder of what the new day would bring. Lips, oh the lips he once had the pleasure of kissing. To take her in his arms, an expression of his love that would be a rare treat. A secret that they couldn’t tell their mentors – fear of what Dutch would do if he knew they were together.

Arthur realised it was a silly fear. But they were young and didn’t know any better. Only now Arthur was alone and she was gone. He wrote in the bottom corner of the page:

_Camille Baker._

_The life we lost._

* * *

**_Sorry this rewrite has taken so long, I'm hoping to be upload a new chapter every Friday or at least every fortnight. I'm trying to find my passion with writing once again, this is just a beginning._ **


	2. Heated Reunion

The world is spinning. Or maybe Arthur is on a boat. He doesn’t remember being near no boat though. The dull ache laying on his skull and the pounding of his own blood running through his ears didn’t help him as he tries to remember what he had done the previous night. Or to where the hell he is currently laying. All he knows is that he is floating in a thunderstorm and something most definitely smells like shit.

“Arthur!” Lenny calls to him as he notices the man groaning awake.

“Shut up.” Arthur grumbles as his hand comes to his head, rubbing at his temples as the sun light bleeds in through the bars on the far wall.

The younger man had woken not too long before Arthur had started to regain consciousness. He had already emptied part of the contents of whatever he drank the night before into the piss bucket in his own cell. The stench began to turn Arthur’s stomach when it drifted towards him.

“What’d we do?” Arthur spoke with a gruff as he began to sit up. The world moving a little too quick for him, causing him to lay back down again.

“I don’t know.” Lenny groans as his hand comes to his stomach again, feeling the twist in his gut of impending doom. “Although, when I woke up there was a woman here. Least I think it was a woman.”

“Ain’t no time to be ogling women, Lenny.” Arthur scolds as he finally sits up, slightly regretting so when the door to the sheriff’s office swings open and brings with it even more bright light.

“Ah, you’re awake.” The Sheriff speaks as he walks over to the cells of the pair.

“Look mister, we didn’t start anything.” Arthur groans as he rubs at his eyes again.

“Yes you did.”

“Ah, I don’t remember.” Arthur grumbles, standing to his feet as he tried to shake off the morning fatigue following the night he had.

“You’re just lucky that you have a pretty woman at your side.” The Sheriff tutted as he began to unlock the cells. Arthur raised his eyebrow at the man as he swung open the cell door.

“That we do.” Arthur decided to play it off, he would ask around camp which of the women came to their aid. Maybe Lenny had seen Karen or Mary-beth come in earlier.

“Don’t want to see you pair in here again, you hear?” The Sheriff scolded the pair as they made their way out of the building.

The air hit Arthur and Lenny. Arthur coughed and felt his stomach tighten and twist but held back the urge to throw up. Lenny wasn’t so lucky as he rushed forwards and emptied his stomach onto the mud of the main street of Valentine. Arthur looks the other way, not wanting to follow suit in presenting his insides to the town.

“So that was a quiet drink?” Lenny groans, leaning against one of the beams outside the sheriff’s office.

“The first one was pretty quiet.” Arthur chuckles, cheering the younger man up as he made a move towards his horse. “You head back to camp. I’m going to sit here and feel sorry for myself.”

“I’ll ask which one of the ladies got us out of trouble.” Then Lenny rode off as Arthur crashed onto the ground. Heaving and sighing as he tried to get the world to stop moving for just a moment. Arthur sat there for a few minutes, regaining a normal sense of gravity and a clearer head than he woke with.

Snippets of what he had done were slowly coming back to him. Lenny had come barrelling into camp on his horse, out of breath and shouting about Micah getting arrested. Dutch wants him to go get him from Strawberry – another thing to add to the piling list he has been made to do as of late.

He took Lenny to the saloon to try and calm the poor kid down. One quiet drink he’d said. Hell even Dutch warned him to keep it quiet. But one led to two and then three. He had blacked out most the night. Snippets of Lenny and himself hitting each, dancing with the locals, Lenny asking why he ain’t been married. That seemed to spread a hole in his heart. Thinking about Mary. Thinking about Camille.

He remembered seeing a woman. She had short brown hair and was facing away from him. In moment of weakness Arthur had approached her and called Camille’s name. The woman turned and frowned at him, _You’re drunk mister_. He’d pulled away from her and sat himself down. His head swirled with the thoughts of Camille. Wanting to see her, to hold her again. Then Lenny brought another drink over to him and he began shouting and hollering again.

“Get up Morgan.” Arthur let out a gruff when the boot had connected with his thigh. Anger fizzed out of him as he opened his eyes, moving to stand up and confront the fool who kicked him.

“Watch ya goddamn-“ He froze. Jaw slack, eyes wide and heart thundering.

“That any way to treat an old friend.” She grinned at him. The black stalker hat sitting upon short brunette curls, light brown eyes gleaming with mischief with a red lipped smirk to match. She was right there. In front of him. The face he saw so many times in his nightmares. The face he had mourned for seven years.

“The hell you been?” And it pissed him off.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Camille scoffed. She shrugged the shoulder bag she over her white blouse and dumped it at Arthur’s feet. “From the stagecoach. Send our dear father’s my regards.” Then she turned and began to walk away from him.

Arthur was fuming. Livid. He picked the bag up and stormed after Camille. She seemed to sense he was following her because she hastened in her steps, leaving Valentine with Arthur hot on her heels. Camille whistled then stopped walking to turn on Arthur.

“Still following women ‘round then?” Camille teased him, smiling.

“Where you been?” Arthur ground out through clenched teeth. His jaw was so tight he thought he’d break a tooth. He was shaking with anger. The same kind he had when John had left but no. This was much worse.

“Dead.” Camille answered then tilted her head. “That is what you thought right? Didn’t even think that maybe I was okay?”

“Where the hell you been?!” Arthur shouted. His temper getting the better of him, his voice was loud, demanding. Camille shook her head turning away from him as her horse approached. Before she could hoist herself onto the horse, Arthur wrapped his hand around her wrist and pulled her back.

“Get your hand off me.” Camille all but hissed in Arthur’s face. He held onto her tighter.

“Start talking.” Arthur replied. Camille looked down at the hand that held her wrist, feeling him squeeze harder. Maybe he wanted her to flinch but it was merely a tickle. She looked back up to his blue eyes, watching as the emotions passed through them that he tried to hide with his stoic expression.

“Oh I’ve missed you.” Camille taunts. She steps closer to Arthur and wraps her free arm around his shoulders, pulling him into her embrace and pressed her lips close to his ear. “Did you know you were being followed?”

Arthur lost his composure for a second at those words, trying to turn to see who Camille mentioned but the woman pulled him closer. A strength that shocked him from her thin arms.

“Don’t worry, I’ve taken care of it. But you tell Dutch to stop robbing Cornwall, it’s putting a bigger target on you all then that mess in Blackwater.” Camille released Arthur as she spoke and he had released her wrist. Arthur frowned at her.

“Oh yes! I know about that little detail.” Camille gloated as she shook her head. Annoyance seemed to drip from her. “Damn neared killed you all!”

“How do you-“

“It don’t matter how I know.” Camille interrupted him again. “What matters is that you tell Dutch he needs to start laying low or a lot of innocent lives are going to be killed.”

Camille turned from him then, seemingly to regain her composure. Arthur noticed how rigid she had grown as she spoke, her shoulders tenses and then relaxing again. Arthur’s anger subsided for now being replaced with curiosity and worry.

“Why you ain’t come home?” Arthur pressed. “Not write? Nothing. You just left.”

“I didn’t have a choice.” Camille sighed, her body slumping as she stroked through the mane of her horse.

“What choice was there? Rob a stagecoach with John then come home. How hard was that?” Arthur snaps, arms flapping around as he spoke.

“Don’t.” Camille faced him, eyes glossy and jaw clenched. “Don’t make me the bad guy.”

“I mourned you Camille!” Arthur was enraged again. Remembering the moment he had to make peace with the fact that Camille was dead. That he wouldn’t see her again. That he had been too late to tell her how he felt. Now that all meant nothing.

“Next time don’t mourn without a body!” Camille cried. The tears fell down her cheeks, along the pale skin that was shaded under her hat. For that spilt second that she allowed herself to feel so strongly, to really let everything go, Arthur saw the woman he knew. The woman he shared the better half of his life with. But then she disappeared again into the woman that stood before him now. The tears were wiped away by her gloved hand and she was this stranger again.

“If I knew… If someone had told me how I was… If only you knew.” Camille sighed. Her shoulders tensed again and her head fell. Staring at her now Arthur felt he couldn’t say anything. The thousands of words that he had wanted to say, the words he wanted to curse her with, were gone. Replaced by his hand touching her cheek, drawing her eyes back to his own. Letting him see her. Feeling that this wasn’t just another nightmare he was about to wake up from. She turned her head as though she heard something. Her face scrunched up and a sigh leaving her lips, she faced Arthur again.

“I’ve got to go.” She spoke barely above a whisper. She moved again to wrap both her arms around his shoulders, his own hands placing themselves on her back. Camille inhaled and Arthur could’ve sworn he heard a strangled sound escape her as he felt her back tense up.

“Go to the tree with the whiskey bottles when you can. You’ll know where it is when you start hearing chimes.” Camille spoke close to his ear, as though afraid someone would hear her. “I’ll wait there.”

Then she let him go and hoisted herself upon her horse. Riding off and leaving Arthur staring at the empty place she was just stood. Missing the warmth that her body gave his own.

_Camille was alive_.


End file.
